


a body is just the past tense of a corpse

by seraf



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Body Dysmorphic Disorder, Character Study, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Incest, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Introspection, Scars, happy birthday noodle man, he's jsut a disaster man, sort of? dysmorphia but there's not a tag for that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-31
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2020-07-28 06:54:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20059861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seraf/pseuds/seraf
Summary: korekiyo shinguji looks at the body in the mirror, and doesn't recognize it.





	a body is just the past tense of a corpse

korekiyo shinguji looks in the mirror, and doesn’t recognize the body there.

it’s not his.

it’s not hers.

there are some things that are his alone; his eyes can never be anyone else’s, his lean height, androgynous and slender, the callouses on his fingertips from years of paging through manuscripts, the circles under his eyes fromwhenthe minutes turn to hours turn to days without sleep, the scar on his leg from where

there are some things that belong to her, superimposed on his body with her will. her long hair, sleek and high-maitenence, falling now to the small of his back. her bright red lips, so infrequently shown from behind his mask that he’s forgotten what their mouth looks like. the way his skin clings to his ribs, in mimicry of her malnutrition, sickness making her weak. painted nails, carefully outlined eyes, a graceful lilt to her voice that has become part of his own, now.

and some things that are born only out of emptiness.

the time he spent without her, after her death, carved out like excruciating tally marks over his forearms and the tops of his thighs - sometimes just for pain’s sake, sometimes now there as a mocking reminder that he can’t even succeed at taking his own life.

the dullness in his eyes, that sleep or food or water or human company can’t fix. he thinks it’s been there since he was a child.

the bruises that so often dot his hips. he’s pretty, he’s a curiousity, and people want him for that. he doesn’t mind if they have him. it’s not his body, anyway. what right does he have to refuse?

the way he clings to himself. he likes to think it’s her, holding him through his own body, but he’s self aware enough to realize he might just be lonely.

he turns away from the mirror.

there’s a reason he keeps as much of himself covered as possible. the thing beneath the uniform she made for him only makes him uncomfortable.


End file.
